


The Afterstories

by devotchka



Category: Dead or Alive (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Jokes As Emotional Support, Costume Kink, Established Relationship, Friendship, Lots of anxiety, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Memory Loss, One Shot Collection, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Road Trips, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-01-16 12:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devotchka/pseuds/devotchka
Summary: His body yields and relaxes. They go through the motions again. Rig questions the limits of his obedience, questions his fortitude and his will and his pride. He wonders if Diego thinks he’s capable of this, and it’s almost enough to hold himself together, and yet it isn’t."Please." He begs. "Please, please, please, I can't -""Patience. Be good for me."*Drabble/oneshot collection; tags added/summary updated with chapters.





	1. That Really Tiny Deluxe Costume

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EchoingInfinite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoingInfinite/gifts).



> It’s my one-year Ao3 anniversary! I’m still the same as I was when I made it but I’m celebrating with a drabble/oneshot collection anyway while also procrastinating the sole two-part fic I ever did. I’ll just dump random stuff in here sometimes.

“I hate it.” Rig says.

“I love it.” Diego says.

“You would.”

Diego doesn’t dignify that with a response. He really can’t be bothered to complain right now. Usually when Rig comes home with a work issue it’s something boring and classically managerial. Today, it was the supposedly indecent costume his famed pair of wrestlers wanted him to wear in the ring, and boy was he not kidding when he said it was tiny.

“They’re panties.” Rig complains. “They barely cover anything.”

He’s completely right. There’s more fabric covering his hands than his ass. The panties – as Rig calls them – can only be described as red and revealing. Diego thinks he might have spotted some words on them somewhere. No one’s gonna read those. He looks at the curve of Rig’s ass with no sense of shame, appreciatively replying, “Oh, they don’t.”

“You’re objectifying me.”

“Don’t the women get objectified, too?”

“Tina wears pants.”

“And she gave you _that_?” He tried to hide the look on his face, he really did, but he was absolutely going to have Mila pass on his thanks. Something about the tiny, latex-y costume was really doing it for him.

So what if he refused to wear it in the ring, Diego figures. Maybe Rig would let him fuck him in it. He’d look good on his back, his legs draped over Diego’s shoulders, those bottoms tugged halfway down his thighs. He thinks they might even be small enough to push to the side if he felt like it.

But Rig isn’t exactly matching his mood. “I’m getting changed. I feel ridiculous.”

“Come on. I think you look great.” Diego insists, and, for a moment, Rig looks like he gets it. 

He takes his opening and closes some distance. His hands settle on either side of Rig’s hips, pressing down against smooth latex and bare skin, tugging him in closer. The first time he kisses him it’s gentle and chaste-like. Rig tilts his chin up towards him like he doesn’t mind, and the small gesture of encouragement is all Diego needs. This time as he moves Rig meets him halfway, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down into a kiss that’s long and deep.

When Rig tiptoes for leverage Diego thinks about those high boots he’s wearing, and it’s crazy how a few out of the ordinary pieces of clothing have him so worked up. Rig has always been unashamed about wearing things that aren’t quite conservative. Something about _this_ , though, is different. They aren’t even going to make it to the bed. Right here is fine.

They have sex on the bedroom floor. It happens rough and quick. He wound up putting Rig on his knees and pinning his hands behind his back, those bright red gloves bunched up under his grip the entire time. He was pleased to find out that Rig’s costume really was small enough to just be pushed out of the way.

Despite (or maybe because of) Diego’s encouragement, Rig still chose to pass on wearing it in front of an audience. But he did keep it.


	2. More Identity Issues

It’s far from traditional, but Diego likes his job. The only downside to working through the night is running on a schedule opposite to most of the city – normally he’s asleep at this hour, ten AM. This morning he’s awake in bed, playing on his phone to kill time, but mostly worrying about Rig.

Rig is at a neurology clinic.

He’s been gone for hours without so much as a text, and Diego isn’t sure what kind of sign that is. He just knows he should be awake when he comes home. He scrolls around on Facebook. He makes coffee. He tells himself a thousand times that sending one more text won’t make things go by any quicker.

He’s drowsy by the time he hears the front door closing – just a little bit louder than usual – and he’s relieved to find his boyfriend immediately joining him in the bedroom, tossing off his jacket and dropping straight into bed without a single word. Not a great sign. The worrying comes back.

Diego rolls over to face him, anyway, getting out a tired, “How did it go?”

Rig stares up at the ceiling instead of looking at him. He’s so tense it’s almost tangible.

”It didn’t.”, he eventually replies. “It was all the same shit I did with my regular doctor.”

He means a long medical history that he can’t provide. Rig doesn’t even know if he’s vaccinated, let alone if he’s suffered head trauma or if he has a family history of seizures.

Rig finally turns to look at him, adding with visible offense, “They checked to see if I had balance issues.”

“Did you tell them about your bending stance?”

The comment earns him a soft laugh, and Rig lets it go. “There are a lot of tests coming up, but my doctor didn't really know what to make of me. I have a referral for a psychologist in the meantime.”

He looks particularly bothered by that. He said it offhandedly, like he was already throwing up walls between himself and the idea, and Diego sympathizes. He probably feels blindsided. “Do you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. Even if we find out what made me like this, I’ll most likely never get my past back. And if that’s the case…”, he hesitates, like he’s torn between options. Like maybe he’s considering simply letting the whole thing go. Then he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Silence passes between the two of them. Diego can’t imagine there’s anything he could say to make this seem alright for Rig. He wants to fix him, knows he can’t, and dwells in some indecipherable mixture of guilt and compassion. 

He makes up for the loss of words with touch, finding one of Rig’s hands and taking it in his own.

“I know you stayed up on purpose.” Rig suddenly points out.

“And?”

“And you can go to bed if you want. I don’t need you waiting around on me just because I’m in a mood.”

Doubtful, Diego thinks. Rig just shared the makings of an existential crisis with him, and he’s going to spend the day brooding over it if he goes isolated. He’s bluffing.

”I’m wide awake.”, Diego lies. “Come on. We’ll spar. You can show me all that balance you have.”

Rig rolls his eyes. Still, Diego catches sight of a faint smile along his lips, and he's already trying to think up ways to see it again. One all-nighter probably wouldn't kill him.


	3. Marriage Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Rig came along, Diego didn’t know that he could feel like this at all, in magnitudes, in glimpses where both nothing and everything make sense.

There’s this spot by the Brooklyn Bridge that Diego likes to stop by. At night, it’s secluded: a little space with scant parking off the highway that leads out to bike path and railings, the East River at his feet, the bridge lighting up the skyline ahead. Growing up, he used to pass by it all the time without a second thought.

It’s been two years since some haphazard trip brought him here with Rig, and the place still makes his boyfriend smile. Diego knows what he’s probably thinking – endless musings over how big the world really is, how wonderous this freedom feels, how lucky he is to finally see it. They stay a while. They talk. 

Rig glances out over the river, toward the bright lights of the bridge and the ceaseless traffic overhead. Diego looks at the honey-brown of his eyes. He toys with the small box in his pocket. They go home.

Before Rig came along, Diego didn’t know that he could feel like this at all, in magnitudes, in glimpses where both nothing and everything make sense.

Rig would say the same. Through all his defiance, his boldness and manic pixie idealism, Diego grounds him where he would otherwise be adrift. He fills voids Rig didn’t even know could be tamed.

The bridge, the drive home, their conversations, their laughter. Sometimes Rig sees these moments with him as small worlds, just himself and Diego, with no need to obsess over whether he’ll remember every second. He remembers enough.

It’s been two years, and sometimes Rig’s heart still skips a beat when he’s close to him – kind of like now, as Diego takes his hand and stops him at the doorway.

Or like immediately after that, as he says, a little nerve-racked, “This isn’t exactly the kind of thing that I thought I’d be doing with my life, but…”

And with his free hand he takes something out of his pocket. A small little box.

Rig knows what it is; there’s no mistaking it.

Diego says that he loves him, and Rig is still so floored he almost wants to ask why. And then there’s the ring, slim and gold, and before Diego can finish properly asking for his hand in marriage, before Rig can recall how to speak the word ‘yes’, he’s pulling him down into a kiss.


	4. Long Distance Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have this routine, and it’s stupid like love letters, where one of them just texts things while the other is sleeping.

Rig wakes up to the shrill tone of his alarm going off. He’s barely half awake as he tugs his phone off the charger and snoozes it for another fifteen minutes, but despite giving himself the extra time he doesn’t manage to use it. Falling asleep is just uncomfortable like this.

As time slowly passes, he rolls over and opens his eyes. There isn’t much to see beyond an empty feeling hotel room – it’s fancy, no doubt, yet not quite as comfortable as home. How long has it been since business took him out of state now, he wonders, and figures the answer lies somewhere around a week, somewhere around halfway done with being away from New York and the world he has there.

He reaches for his phone again and glances through the notifications. There, like clockwork, are a handful of messages from Diego.

They have this routine, and it’s stupid like love letters, where one of them just texts things while the other is sleeping. They’ve never discussed it in depth. When work sends Rig off to random states for random chunks of time they just fall into the habit, and he’d die before he admitted it but the sentimentalist in him finds comfort in this, the mutuality of it, the way Diego is just so naturally sweet.

It isn’t always easy for Diego to find time to get his phone in his hands during fight club hours, but Rig glances over his words as he sits up in bed.

**10:36 PM : I know it’s only been four days and I know I always just complained about it, but I already miss listening to you rant about my schedule before I leave for work at night.**

**12:54 AM: This place makes me happier than it used to. You kicked my ass the night we met here, but since things are the way they are now I don’t think that I count it as much of a loss anymore. I thought you looked cute when you were mad even back then btw.**

**3:05 AM: I just got home. I still kind of expect you to be here when I walk in the door, telling me about your day. It’s different face to face. You’re my favorite person, you know that? I think when you get back I’ll take a night or two off work like you keep asking me to and we can go out and do something nice.**

**3:31 AM: I’m gonna get some sleep. Send nudes. Or really anything. I miss you.**

With the difference in time zones, Diego went to bed maybe an hour and a half ago. Way back when this started, Rig used to read over his texts and think about what he’d say to him, really think, but he accepted long ago that Diego is the natural romantic of the two of them, and that he’s more authentic when he’s just saying whatever.

He knows he at least has a picture. Tina insists on capturing everything when she’s on the road, and she’s good at it. She has candid snapshots of tons of moments, but the one he picks is a group photo she insisted he take with her and her father before their show. They’re both happy despite the demanding schedule of touring; between them, his arms around their shoulders, Bass looks undeniably proud.

He forwards it to Diego. He types whatever.

**5:18 AM: Things are fine so far but I’m fucking tired of touring, oh my god. One more week and things can go back to normal. Call me when I get back to the hotel tonight?**

Short, simple, and unpoetic. Fitting, in its way. Diego will wake up in a few hours and tell him thoughtful things. He’ll bring down all his walls and his pride in that way that only he can, reminding him of everything there is to look forward to. And then in a week or so he’ll be home with everyone else – him and Diego and Tina and Mila running around the city like teenagers, just doing whatever, loudly, freely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just experimenting with some different formats, trying to write things that aren't exclusively porn, etc., etc.


	5. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They started these trips for Rig, who has spent enough of his life cooped up in one place. Then one road trip turned into another, and another. Now, sometimes, they do it just because.

“What state are we in now?” Diego asks.

In the passenger seat beside him, Mila reaches into the center console and checks her phone, glancing at the GPS. “Maryland.” She replies. “Almost home.”

“I’m worn out.” Diego says, and she wordlessly nods in agreement. It’s been nothing but driving tonight, just dark interstate roads and soft music and casual chat – really, it’s nice, and he knows he’ll miss it once they’re back in the city, but right now his legs are stiff and they’re low on gas, searching around a desolate road off the highway for somewhere to fill the tank back up.

They don’t get to travel much, but when they do it’s always through these long road trips. It’s more interesting this way, with spontaneous stops to make and spontaneous things to see, not like a nonstop flight thirty thousand feet in the air. There’s more freedom this way, more unashamed loudness, more joy.

They started these trips for Rig, who has spent enough of his life cooped up in one place. Then one road trip turned into another and another. Now, sometimes, they do it just because.

Mila looks over at him in the silence, like she’s thinking. “You’re happy, right?” she eventually asks. “I mean with everything that’s different now.”

She means since the day they met, when she attempted to be a good influence on him; she means since Dead Or Alive last year. 

Diego spares a glance at the back seat through the rear-view mirror. Tina is huddled in one corner, her face pressed against the window, her hair in an uncharacteristically messy ponytail and her body wrapped up in Rig’s jacket. Beside her, Rig is also asleep. He’s sprawled out as much as possible, using Tina’s shoulder like a pillow.

“Couldn’t be happier.” He says, and he means it. What would he be doing tonight if he hadn’t run into these three? Working, most likely – lying dormant and unfulfilled.

“I know it was mostly your boyfriend back there who dragged your stubborn ass out of the old routine, but I’m really proud of you for taking that chance either way.”

She makes him smile. Far and few in between are people as warm and sincere as Mila. She may not have won him over on the first attempt, with her bubbly nature and passionate optimism, but he’s thankful that she stuck around.

“Hey, there’s a gas station down there!” she happily points out before he can reply to her.

He sees it, too, a bit further down the road. “Finally.”

Diego pulls their car in beside the pumps. It’s two in the morning. He’s used to these hours, but Mila is yawning as she sits up a bit straighter. She reaches up and turns on the overhead lights, making noise as she starts digging around looking for wallets. Tina and Rig don’t notice the commotion in the slightest.

“Do you mind if I go get some snacks while you fill the tank?” Mila asks.

“That sounds great.” Diego says. Really, he’s impartial to anything that isn’t getting up and stretching his legs for a bit. “Wake them up back there. Ask them what they want.”

“I’m not taking my chances with Rig. Tina will know what he wants, anyway.”

“Fine by me.”

And, with that, Diego leaves to take care of the car. Mila reaches into the backseat and starts to nudge her girlfriend awake. The response is immediate. Tina frowns and groans and tries to push her hand away, using the arm not pinned down by Rig to swat at Mila’s fingers. But she’s awake enough. 

“We’re at a gas station.” Mila says. “Do you want anything?”

Tina squints up at her through the bright overhead lights. Her voice is heavy with sleep. “Caffeine.”

She gestures at Rig, still out of it. “And for him?”

“Also caffeine. He likes Red Bull. The green ones. Kiwi apple or whatever.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“Can we stop at a hotel and do the rest of the drive in the morning? Somewhere with big, warm beds and nice showers.”

“I’ll ask.”

Satisfied with that, Tina backchannels some noise of acknowledgement and leans back against the window, closing her eyes again.

Mila thinks for a second about how unusual it is to see her like this: messy hair, oversized jacket, no makeup on her face. She’d never accept the compliment, but Mila finds her natural beauty endearing. The three of them are pretty much the only people Tina would dare allow to see her like this, so she steals a glance while she can, and then she heads out of the car.

Diego is already pumping gas, absentmindedly playing with his phone while he does. Mila takes a second to straighten out her clothes and run her hands through her hair before she walks into the store, saying to Diego, “Tina said she wants to stop somewhere for the night. Are you even tired yet?”

Diego doesn’t look up from his phone, but he’s never slow to make decisions. “No, but we can stop, anyway. Her and Rig can handle driving in the morning.”

“You won’t get any sleep. You know how they are together.”

She means how closely bonded they are, how they can and definitely will laugh about practically anything. Part of it must come from working so closely together day in and day out, but there’s a natural similarity there – in humor, in tenacity, in that way they’re both only fulfilled when they’re doing and seeing and learning new things.

“I’ll live.” Diego says.

“I’ll grab you some coffee. Just plain black?”

“You’re always looking out for me, Mila.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor character studies, slice of life scenarios -- I'm just writing whatever these days. But I did like it.


	6. Existential Morning Afters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, you can tear yourself to pieces obsessing over the future if you want to. I won’t stop you. But we’re married and I’m happy with you, and if, by some freak occurrence, you disappeared, I’d find you.”
> 
> Rig’s first instinct is to deem that idealistic bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To EchoingInfinite – I hope you enjoy this one. It's emotional and long and ran off on its own to become whatever it wanted. I was inspired by your extrospection. Thanks for sharing this rarepair with me/being my absolute favorite idea supplier.

There was no big wedding. Both Diego and Rig, with much relief afterward, admitted that they didn’t want the pressure or attention of a large ceremony, and so they simply picked an afternoon and went down to the courthouse to make things official. Tina and Mila tagged along as witnesses. They went out and celebrated, got much too drunk. The rest of that night is a haze for Rig.

All he knows is that he’s in bed, barely dressed, and it’s the morning after. His head hurts. And he’s got this ring on his finger.

He spends long minutes there, while Diego (his _husband_ ) sleeps, just thinking and feeling and processing way too much. Instead of getting the water his body so desperately craves, he runs through what-if scenarios in his head. Instead of taking a Tylenol and going back to sleep, he anxiously plays with his wedding band.

He doesn’t know how long he just sits there doing nothing. Time passes without him watching it.

He’s snapped out of it by the sound of sheets and pillows shifting around, and Diego rolling over to drape an arm over him. He isn’t ready for it. He wants to keep overthinking.

“Good morning,” Diego says, “my wonderful, gorgeous, perfect husband. You have no idea how happy I am today.”

Rig smiles. He tries to go along with it. He truly feels the same; there’s just this thing that’s nagging at him, and it refuses to leave him alone. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Well, there’s a bit of a hangover, but of course. I can’t believe we’re really married.” And then he sees Rig’s face, the way he must wear his emotions more than he thought he did, and naturally finds concern. “Is something on your mind?”

Yes, but no. Just things he doesn’t put words to, things he shoves deep down, too complicated to want to deal with – things that are haunting him with guilt, now, because he never voiced them when he should’ve.

“A little.” He lies. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That makes me think it’s definitely a big deal.”

“Okay, but I said it’s not.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Diego says, and then amends, “At least when it comes to me. Just tell me whatever it is, and we can fix it.”

He’s skeptical. He doesn’t care if Diego can see that in him. Rig knows that he means what he says, that he’s a kind man and a worthy husband, the type that’s already bent over backwards in the past just to get things where they are now. Rig’s done something cruel to him, leading him on in this way.

That’s the breaking point. That’s what sends words spilling out of his mouth. The incessant guilt.

He can't even look at him like this, so he doesn't, focusing anywhere else. Once the thoughts he's been holding onto start tumbling out there's no reeling them back in. “I just feel so fucking selfish. I feel like maybe we rushed things, and it’s not you that’s the problem – it’s me. I can’t promise anyone forever. It’s just too broad and, with me, it’s too fragile. I don’t know what I’ll be like in the next five years, or the next month, or even tomorrow, and I wasn’t expecting you to ask for this but then suddenly you did, and I didn’t want to think about my own problems. I wanted to say yes and live a normal life and I feel like because I knew these things all along that wasn’t fair of me to do. I’m still bouncing between neurologists who have no clue what the fuck is going on with me, or if I’ll lose myself again, and I don’t even know if- “

“Hey, hey, slow down. Just breathe for a second, okay? You’re talking a thousand miles an hour right now.”

That sounds about accurate. Rig just looks at him, feeling stupid, feeling like throwing all of this at him isn’t helping much, anyway.

He's relieved when Diego takes over the conversation for a while, saying, “So let me just make sure I have this straight and I’m really following along with you. You feel like you promised me something unobtainable.”

“Kind of.”

“And you’re being really pessimistic about it and assuming this marriage is going to end tragically.”

“That’s harshly put, but kind of.”

“Don’t you think I had my own thoughts to consider before I asked for this? Don’t you think I already thought about things like you and the future and what might or might not happen?”

Rig doesn’t have an answer. Not one any more complex than “but you don’t think about it like I do”, so for a moment, he says nothing. Diego doesn’t fill the space with lectures. He just waits.

“I think about this all the time.” Rig admits. “Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t already done this before. If there are other times where I lost myself and started over just to lose things again.”

He knows it’s the kind of thing Diego never really considered. It’s the kind of idea that comes with too much deliberation and weighing odds and doubting reality. Diego is too grounded, too set in seeing what’s in front of him and dealing with the right now, to be that anxious.

“That’s…honestly a huge mindfuck,” he replies, “and I get that it scares you. But, like you said, we don’t even know what’s wrong with you yet. It could be something- “

“That’s exactly the problem. How can I know it’s impossible when I don’t know anything at all?”

“Look, you can tear yourself to pieces obsessing over the future if you want to. I won’t stop you. But we’re married and I’m happy with you, and if, by some freak occurrence, you disappeared, I’d find you.”

Rig’s first instinct is to deem that idealistic bullshit.

“I would.” Diego insists. “If what you need is reassurance that there is someone out there who will pull you back on the incredibly slim chance that kind of thing happens, you’ve had it all along. I would find you. I’d move fucking mountains to find you.”

“Okay, so say somehow you managed that. And what if I’d changed somehow?”

“Do you really think that’s what you’ve done? Been reborn into entirely different mindsets over and over?”

Sometimes he does. To prove his point, Rig gestures down at his body, at the math and science that covers it. “Please explain all of this to me.”

Diego looks like he’s actually going to try, but Rig knew when he brought it up that it was an unanswerable question. He couldn’t care less about these things that are permanently, unexplainably marked onto his skin. “That’s fair.” Diego admits.

Rig just shrugs. That’s that, he thinks. Point proven. Conversation over.

“You look disappointed.” Diego says, and then there isn’t much left to discuss. His options are either to accept these ideas Rig has as the valid things they are and discourage him even further, or try to invalidate them in some way that he’s most likely already thought about. Sometimes trying to influence him is simply impossible. “It’s okay. Come here.”

He opens his arms, and Rig takes his spot there, laying across his chest. Silence fills the room again, and it’s heavy – not quite what Diego had in mind for their first day as newlyweds.

He sympathizes with Rig. He’s right; as much as Diego has kept his condition in mind, he thinks that he’ll never truly understand how living like that must feel – all that confusion and doubt, all that powerlessness. Just talking about it exhausts Rig in itself. Opening up like that, sharing that kind of precise, unusual self-hatred with someone else, even his own husband, can’t be close to fun. He sympathizes.

They just stay that way for a while, in each other’s company, thinking things over. Despite how much he wants to, Diego can’t guarantee Rig an easy life. He can’t guarantee that everything will stay the same, but he can at least promise that it’ll never be him letting things go.

“Remember our vows?” He asks. “Remember all that stuff we said less than twenty-four hours ago? In sickness and in health?”

“This isn’t a sickness.” Rig immediately replies.

“It is. Your brain is just as much a part of your body as anything else that can get sick. I knew what was up with you when we started dating, and I didn’t forget about it when I asked you to marry me, and I haven’t forgotten about it now.”

“And you can really promise me you’re okay with that?”

He’s so damn obstinate. It’s like talking to a wall sometimes. Diego gets that existential dread is a reoccurring theme of Rig’s, but he’s hung over and he’s going to get the point across one way or another. “Look at me.” He says.

Rig props himself up on Diego’s chest, and when he does Diego takes his face in both hands and keeps him there.

“Rig, I swear to you; I haven’t meant anything more than what I’m saying right now. This is it for me. You’re the love of my life. I’m not letting you go. Got it?”

He listens, but Diego isn’t sure how much actually gets through. Still, he manages a gentle nod and a gentler “Got it” in return, and he doesn’t want to worsen this for him by nagging about it. He lets go of him, leaving things be, letting Rig have whatever space he needs to deal with life his own way.

“I’m going to get something to take care of this headache. Do you want me to bring you medicine?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you want to pick a movie and stay in bed for a while?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He gets up knowing his day will probably be full. The aftercare on these sorts of things is complex. Rig likes distractions, and that might be sex, or it might be terrible jokes, or it might be getting out of the house. It might also be just talking about it over and over until he can’t say anything else, and then talking about it some more. It depends on what kind of mood he’s in. Diego likes to think he’s getting pretty good at picking up on those kinds of needs, and that things will go smoothly as they usually do.

Part of him also knows that they left that conversation off with a not entirely convinced Rig. He knows that even when he does have faith in things there will always be these small relapses where it shakes. He knows, too, that things could get worse if any of Rig’s convoluted fears prove to be real.

But they’re married now, and it’s final. It’s permanent. He wouldn’t want life any other way. Putting in the time it takes to prove it isn’t something he minds doing.


	7. Edging Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His body yields and relaxes. They go through the motions again. Rig questions the limits of his obedience, questions his fortitude and his will and his pride. He wonders if Diego thinks he’s capable of this, and it’s almost enough to hold himself together, and yet it isn’t.
> 
> " _Please_." He begs. "Please, please, please, I can't -"
> 
> "Patience. Be good for me."

Rig has a desk in one corner of the bedroom – a fairly massive one, about waist high, used mostly for uneventful and managerial work things – and this information is only relevant to him now because it’s the first time he’s found himself splayed out across it, completely naked, the floor covered in a mess of papers and folders and whatever else used to be where he currently is.

Normally, Diego is very polite when it comes to sex. Tonight, on whatever round of power exchange and marathon sex this is, he simply isn’t.

He’s teasing him, and Rig hates how much he loves it.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying across this desk, at Diego’s mercy, pushed to the verge of breaking and then brought back down just to repeat it over and over, desperate for a conclusion. He fucking _needs_ it, feels like sobbing, his legs trembling where Diego keeps them spread wide around his waist.

They’ve been fucking long enough that he knows Diego can tell what he feels like when he’s close – that fluttering of his insides, the way he clenches and doesn’t stop, the way his voice betrays him every single time.

It’s just like now, as he hears himself louder and needier, as he feels that reflexive squeeze and every thrust of Diego’s hips sends his cock into that one deep, sensitive spot that unwinds him without fail. He can’t control it. All he thinks, like overbearing clockwork, is that he’s close, so close, so fucking close to getting what he wants.

All it takes is a subtle shift of angles, a gentle manipulation of his body, and it’s gone. Back to square one.

The first time this happened Rig tried to correct him, and it was obvious then that he’d been deliberate, that he wanted to play games with him. This time – who knows which time it really is since then – he just caves, feeling like he can hardly form a coherent sentence at all. “ _Please_.” he begs. “Please, please, please, I can’t- “

He doesn’t even know where he’s going with that sentence. It’s like the only word he really does know anymore is please.

Diego’s still fucking him, but it’s slower, it’s off center with what he needs, and it still feels unbearably good. If he could just stay on that one spot, hard and fast, this would be over in a matter of seconds.

Instead, Diego says, “Patience. Be good for me.”

Rig hardly registers it over the rapid fire of his pulse and the sounds coming out of his own mouth and the blind need of it all. This is worse than the kink stuff, he tells himself – worse than collars and degradation and outright violence, and that’s why he thinks Diego likes this game so much. It isn’t about the pain Rig can take so well. It’s about the patience that he can’t.

He’s vaguely aware of his hips aching. He’s vaguely aware of where his hands rest, not allowed to grab at Diego, not allowed to touch himself. He focuses too much on what he _is_ allowed to feel, and it’s overwhelming, those slow, deep thrusts into him, promising something he couldn’t yet have.

His body yields and relaxes. They go through the motions again. Rig questions the limits of his obedience, questions his fortitude and his will and his pride. He wonders if Diego thinks he’s capable of this, and it’s almost enough to hold himself together, and yet it isn’t. 

He whimpers at the feel of Diego prodding at that overstimulated part of him one more time. He lets it build. It’s all he can do. His hips rock into the motion of their own accord, gently, contributing to his own frustration, and he tells himself that this time has to be it. This has to be the limit. The buildup isn’t gradual anymore – it’s immediate, crashing over him in heavy waves, far too intense than anything this soft has the right to be.

The next time he’s denied what he wants, the pleading starts up again. Every misguided thrust threatens what’s left of his dignity, wearing him down until he’d say practically anything, until he doesn’t recognize his own urges; failing, at this point, to hide them behind stubbornness and emotional walls.

“It’s so fucking hot, seeing you like this.” Diego says, and Rig only catches blurs of the words that follow it. They’re back on the upswing, Diego slamming hard into that spot that sends shockwaves through him, that spot that’s suddenly making him cry out and arch his back and bury his face in his hands.

It happens so fast, Diego’s arms hooking around his thighs and tugging him in closer, fucking him deeper and harder, and that need in him is so heavy now that it aches. It pools in him like lava. He hears praise for his obedience, for his body; he hears, finally, permission to come.

It’s already so good like this, so much rougher. Exactly how he likes it. And Diego doesn’t stop this time, letting Rig take and take, letting that pressure build and grow and overwhelm him completely. And suddenly, too quickly, it’s there – that unavoidable clamping down and that frantic, burning need, that moment where he’s hyperaware of every small thing: Diego buried too deep, and how good it feels to be too full, too needy, too helpless.

He has the most intense, drawn out orgasm of his life. It feels like a head rush, like finding some unintended hedonistic zenith, like nothing he can vocalize at all as his lungs burn and his throat aches and no sound significant enough comes out, soft and muffled.

And even after, as Diego continues pounding into him, it still feels so good, so hypersensitive.

“I love you.” Rig says, and then it’s spilling from him on autopilot, and he can’t control it; just like how he shakes, how he moans, how he needs it to stop yet can’t bear the thought. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He hears, once, “I love you, too.”

He doesn’t feel completely there for the rest of it. He doesn’t feel completely there as Diego bottoms out as far as he can and comes in him, or while he’s leaning over him, pulling him into deep, lingering kisses, cupping his face so softly.

He’s swimming through some odd mental haze as Diego stops to look him in the eyes and ask, “How are you feeling?”

“Wobbly.” He replies. It’s as fitting a choice in words as any other.

“Good, though?”

He nods. He’s exhausted, coming down from this experimental, forced endorphin high, but it _is_ good. Everything’s good.

Diego leans down and kisses him again, and he melts into it, his arms lazily draping around his shoulders. He is thankful for this man who pushes his limits so well, who holds him down and makes him feels so powerless, so loved, so transcendent at the same time. He’s still a little astonished, this far into things, that it’s never anything like he once imagined it would be.

“How long was that?” He asks, curiously, as their last kiss breaks.

“I’m not sure.” Diego says. He glances around, finding the clock that sits on one wall. “Definitely less than an hour.”

That’s…a little pathetic, probably. Rig wouldn’t know, so used to just taking, so new to accepting obedience. “I’m very tired.” He still complains. “Can we go to bed?”

Diego cups the side of Rig’s face again, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against his cheek, and the way he looks at him with such fondness makes Rig wonder how he’s capable of denying him anything at all. “We can go to bed.” He agrees.


End file.
